remembering faces.” “I used to. About thirty years ago.” “Oh, then as a little

boy?” “Yes.” “Well, you go back much farther than I do. I’ve only been the

pastor here for nine years. I came over from Roanoke.” “Father Rooney was the

pastor when I came here.” “Father Rooney? That name sounds familiar. There were

quite a few priests in between him and me. The Richmond Diocese likes to move us

around.” “Would you have any idea where I could find him?” O’Neil became

slightly guarded. “Can I ask why you’re looking for him?” “My name is John

Puller Jr. My father was in the Army, same as me. I used to come here with my

mother and brother when we were little. My mother disappeared from Fort Monroe

thirty years ago. She was never found. I’m just trying to piece together what

might have happened.” The watery blue eyes softened even more. “Why now if so

much time has gone by?” Puller took out his CID cred pack.

 

The priest studied it. “CID? So is this an official investigation?” “No, just

personal. Some things have occurred recently that led me to want to finally find

out what happened to her.” “I can understand that, Agent Puller. Not knowing is

a terrible thing.” “So might you know what happened to Father Rooney? I don’t

even know if he’s alive.” “Well, I can certainly try to find out. I can

certainly make some calls. Do you mind waiting, or perhaps coming back later? I

have a meeting coming up in about fifteen minutes that I have to prepare for,

but I can do it right after that. Say about two hours or so?” “I’ll be back. And

thank you, Father.” Puller left the church and checked his watch. He didn’t like

to waste time. The Army did not teach wasting time—quite the reverse.

 

Puller hadn’t even reached his Malibu when he heard the man. “What are you doing